


After, But Before

by clockworkrobots



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Depression, Episode Tag, M/M, Season/Series 09
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-01-22
Packaged: 2018-01-09 16:40:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1148309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clockworkrobots/pseuds/clockworkrobots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Castiel sees Dean one last time before going to find his brothers and sisters again. He meets him on the road, not far out of Lebanon, crossing paths again as they travel in opposite directions.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>A 9.11 coda.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After, But Before

  
Castiel sees Dean one last time before going to find his brothers and sisters. He meets him on the road, not far out of Lebanon, crossing paths again as they travel in opposite directions. 

They spot each other almost instantly. Castiel could never mistake the sound and shape of that black car, even in the dusk. The wheels of their vehicles squeal to a stop as the pull over onto opposite edges of the road. Castiel gets out first. Castiel is the one who walks over to Dean. 

"Still driving the pimp-mobile, huh?" Dean jokes as he leans against the closed door of the Impala, as Castiel comes to a stop in front of him. But his voice sounds tired, heavy. His eyes are rimmed with the bruises of sleeplessness, and his shoulders slump slightly, like he wishes he could simply sink to the ground.

"It's adequate," Castiel shrugs, hands stuffed in the pockets of his coat. He thinks it might be considered a bit chilly out tonight, even though he no longer is truly affected by the cold. Still, habit does not leave him. He hunches his shoulders close. "It would feel cruel to steal another car just because it's 'cooler' when I have a perfectly functional one here," he says.

Dean huffs out through his nose in a sort of forced out laugh, as if he _wants_ to be jovial but cannot find the energy within him to do so. "Yeah, you would think that," he drawls.

"I could steal yours," Castiel teases. "But I don't think you would approve of that."

Dean smiles at that, but it's sad. Burdened. Castiel understands, of course, but he still aches to see it. His fingers twitch in his pocket to reach out to touch his friend's face, and smooth out the lines of it.

"Hell," Dean shakes his head, and stares at the dark ground. "I'd run away with you, at this rate."

It's wistful, the way he says it. Like he wishes he believed what he's saying so much that he can almost taste it, the freedom of the rushing highway air. Castiel smiles sadly at him back. "No, you wouldn't," he says, knowing his friend all too well.

Dean look up at him then, eyes yearning. "Don't tempt me," he says, but his face says the opposite. It says _please do, please distract me_. But they don't have _time_ for distractions now, and that resigned thought tastes bitter in Castiel's mouth, as bitter as the strange mixture of peanut butter and jelly molecules had, hours ago. Out here, he can taste the molecules of the road, of the sky. He and Dean are not travelling in the same direction yet; the wind does not taste right.

"I'm not running away, Dean," he says, shuffling closer to lean with Dean against the side of his car. Their shoulders brush. "I'm going to find my family," he explains. "Or, what's left of it. I expect your driving back to Lebanon to do the same."

Dean scoffs, but it's more directed at himself. "Yeah, what's left of it."

The air around them grows colder, and Castiel does not like it. If they are to part ways again, he does not want to leave so hollow of an imprint on Dean's mind. Dean is worth more than that. So he switches subject. "Did you find Gadreel?" he asks, hoping this is a safer subject. It's direct. Objective. Yes or no.

"No, uh--No, that was kind of a bust," Dean says, but there's a curious tone to his denial. "Didn't find Abaddon either."

"You did find something, though," Castiel prods, pulling on the strings of Dean's hesitancy.

Dean sets his jaw and captures Castiel rapt gaze. "Cain," he states sharply. "I found Cain."

 _That_ was certainly not the name Castiel expected. " _The_ Cain?"

"Yeah," Dean shrugs, his hands stuffed into his pockets too. "Dude was holed up in some farmhouse in Missouri."

Castiel's face must betray a look of horror, because Dean snaps, "Don't look at me like that, he was out of commission. He wasn't dangerous. Abaddon's mooks, on the other hand..."

" _Dean,_ " Castiel presses. He thinks if his heart still needed to beat to sustain life, his heart would be beating very fast. _Cain..._ The first son. The first victim of what Gadreel unleashed unto the world.

"I handled it," Dean waves his worry off. "Guess was good enough, too, that Cain saw... I don't know. Something. He gave me this," he says, and then pulls up the sleeve of his jacket and shirt to reveal a dark red mark on his arm. Castiel has not seen a mark of that shape in quite a long time. 

He grabs Dean's arm, and touches the mark just to be sure. He thinks he hears Dean hiss at the contact, but he does not know if it's because of the pressure of the touch, or the fact that it's Castiel touching him. Castiel traces the harsh lines of the brand. " _Dean,_ do you know what this is?"

Dean jerks his arm away out of Castiel's graps, and shoves his sleeve down. "He said it would let me wield the First Blade. The only thing that can kill a knight of hell."

"Oh, it means far more than that, Dean," Castiel says, imploring Dean to understand the gravity of what has happened.

"Yeah?" Dean bites at him, eyes hard and mouth bitter. "Like what? And don't say it _taints_ me or _marks_ me or some ominous angel bullshit, because I'm fucking marked enough. I don't need no symbol on my arm telling me I'm doomed, Cas," he laughs, but it's without mirth entirely. "I've always known that. This just lets me... do something with it. At least some good might come of all this now, if I can kill Abaddon, and get her cronies back into hell without Sam having to be the one to do it," he pauses, closes his eyes for a brief respite. "At least some good might come of me after all."

Castiel moves back in front of Dean. With his eyes still closed, Castiel cups his friends face with both hands, imploring him to open them, or, at least, to _listen_. Dean's eyes fly open.

"Dean," he says, voice adamant but quiet. He needs to be quiet. These words are just for Dean. "I don't say this as your friend, I say this as someone who has seen centuries, millenia of humanity love and die for each other: you are the _best of us_. No one else could bear the burdens that have been forced upon you and still survive so wholly, so beautifully, heart intact."

Dean lets out a shaky, shuddering breath. Castiel feels the vibrations of it beneath his too-cool palms. He can also see the swirl of doubt in the deep green of his friends eyes. The sadness, the hatred, the exhaustion. Castiel aches to pull it out of him. He pulled him out of Hell once, after all. Castiel hates himself just a bit that he cannot do it again.

Dean's eyes shutter closed again, but he leans into Castiel touch, just a bit.

"'Of us', huh?" he says after a moment, when his eyelids blink open again "You counting yourself among the mire now?"

"I'm human where it counts, I suppose," Castiel replies. His left thumb idly traces the soft curve of Dean's cheek bone, just below his too-tired eyes. "I don't think that will ever change, now."

Dean hums beneath the touch, or Castiel thinks he does. A little warmth returns to his hands, and he gets lost enough in the sensation that he misses when Dean says, "Good."

"What?"

"I told you not to, remember? 'Don't ever change'," Dean offers a small smile, remembering.

Castiel remembers, too. He remembers feeling lost and alone and Dean stood by him, and their two vagabond souls stood together in the dark. "I don't know if I fully lived up to that request," he sighs. "I've changed a lot since then, in many respects." He's died and been reborn and killed more brothers and sisters and innocents than he can bear to think about. But he has to think about it. That is his punishment.

"Yeah, well. Look at me, I'm one to talk. I go from straight out of hell to now... Even worse." Dean's tongue is too used to the taste of bitterness. Too used to it because it's always directed at himself. 

"Dean--" Castiel begins, but Dean interrupts, finally pulling back enough that Castiel's hands are forced to fall.

"Yeah, Cas, I get it. You _believe_ in me, or whatever. I'm just telling you _don't_. It's a waste of your time."

Castiel can see Dean receding before his eyes, blocking up behind the armour of the night and his many layers of worn clothes. Castiel feels a renewed, burning need to reach him. He only lets his hands fall to Dean's shoulders, and then he holds on tight. 

His face is not inches away from the tip of Dean's nose. He can hear Dean's blood beating, feel his breath on his own face. "Don't understand my faith in you lightly, Dean," he tells him, blue eyes boring into green. "I am an angel. I was brought into existence knowing only the shape of myself and the shape of faith because they were meant to be one and the same thing. I've grown and I've doubted and I've struggled, but you do not erase a lifetime of belief. Even when I shirked beliefs I once held, that only means I know the power they wield _more_. I know the full shape and weight and power of faith now. What it means to have it. What it means to lose it. What it means to place it in someone fallible." 

Dean's body jerks, as if it is physically rejecting such a good opinion of it.

"Dean, _listen_ to me," Castiel says, crowding in closer. Their shoes bump gracelessly, but Castiel cares not for elegance in this moment. He only cares that Dean hear him in his darkness.

 _"I have_ _faith in you_."

Dean's faces breaks. "Cas--"

"It's not too much," Castiel cuts him off, knowing the words will come. "It's just enough, Dean. _You're_ enough."

And then Dean kisses him. He grabs Castiel coat and pulls him in so that he's entirely pressed against his car, his home. He's guarded on both sides now, and so so he kisses Castiel with a zealous hunger, a desperation for comfort. Castiel kisses back.

He tries to say with his human lips what he cannot say with righteous words. He tries to speak the language of love that Dean has taught him, and receive Dean's warmth, his touch in return.

When they pull apart, Dean leans his forehead against Castiel's, hands still fisted in his coat. "You can't say shit to me like this and leave again, man," he says, more resigned than accusative. They never have these moments at the right time.

"You left first," Castiel says back.

"You could have followed me."

"I couldn't leave Sam."

"Yeah..." Dean concedes, as he lifts his head up to look at Castiel better. "Yeah, thanks for that man. For--for healing him."

"It's the least I could do to make up for what I've done to him," Castiel says, thinking back to how many wrongs he's wrought upon these Winchesters he'd sworn to fight for. He's used them, and hurt them, and though he'd been caught up in supposedly good motives at the time, Castiel still feels the sting of regret from past lives and past lies all these years later.

"I forgave you a long time ago, man," Dean says softly, one hand winding up to touch the skin just above the collar of Castiel's shirt. If Castiel had a pulse, Dean would surely feel it. "Hell, Sam probably forgave you even earlier. You know that right?"

"I know," Castiel says. "That does't mean I ever forgave myself."

Dean huffs. "God, forget dumbasses. We are a couple of fucked up sons of bitches, huh?"

The corner of Castiel mouth quirks up. "Driving the long road of good intentions together."

Dean bites his lip. "You're driving in the opposite direction, though," he says. Well, someone needed to say it.

"Yes," Castiel acknowledges. "I'm sorry. I would ask you to come, but I know you don't want to. You want to see Sam." He doesn't blame Dean for that, either. If Dean can make some piece with Sam, that will be a good start.

Still, Dean looks weary, wary. "Yeah."

"I will come back, though, Dean," Castiel tells him. "If you believe none of what I say, at least believe in that."

"Part of me always believes that you'll come back," Dean says, and it's barely above a whisper. Castiel has heard this line before, too. They were some of the first words he heard after find himself again, after dying and seeing the destructive wake of his decisions. After all he'd done, Dean still believed he would come back. He still wanted him. Castiel hopes Dean understands that he will always want him, too.

"All of me will always try," he says, just as quiet.

"You'll call though, right?" Dean asks, needing to hear this small assurance.

Castiel is glad to give it. Yes. Of course."

"We have shit timing," Dean says, eyes straying back to Castiel's lips. Castiel wonders if he's thinking about taking them both back to the bunker, of losing themselves in each other's bodies and each other's breaths until their exhaustion is a happy place of climaxes and comfort, as they sink into sleep together.

But that is not for today.

"We'll get it right some day."

"Yeah? You promise?" Dean asks, voice cracking. It's a foolish question, because Dean knows he can't. Castiel can't fault him, though, for asking it.

"No. I don't," he says honestly, but before Dean's face has a chance to fall, he says, "I _hope_ , Dean."

Dean smirks dismissively. "You and your faith."

"You and _your_ faith. You have more than you think you do, Dean. You have family. You have Sam. You have me." Castiel indulges himself in one last touch of his lips against Dean's lips. "One day..." he says as he pulls away.

"What?"

"You'll have faith for yourself too."

Dean's eyes are bright despite the surrounding shadow of the fallen night. "Promise?"

"I hope," Castiel repeats, and he'll carry Dean's next words in his chest on his long journey back into battle.

"Me too."


End file.
